


a promise of spring

by brandflakeeee



Series: wait for me [4]
Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-09 08:50:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18913600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandflakeeee/pseuds/brandflakeeee
Summary: spring returns to the mortal realm.





	a promise of spring

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd, so any mistakes are mine.

 

The sun is warm against her face, soft and glowing as she traverses the fields. The grass came up to her waist in some sections, her fingertips brushing the long fronds as she wove between them toward one of the great trees on the hilltop. It called, beckoning to her, begging for attention to it’s drooping leaves and dry bark. Her lips curl as she reaches out to touch it, life thrumming beneath her fingers. The tree responds in kind, the change almost immediate as it seems to perk up at the edges, the leaves just a touch brighter. 

 

Persephone smiles.

 

The Elysian fields were as close as she could get to life in the underworld most days. Soon, however, she’d be on top again. Back on the surface. Winter had been mild and spring was due. The train would arrive at anytime - without warning, knowing her brother - and she feels hesitant to leave. 

 

Reaching up to grab a branch, she nimbly pulls herself up into the branches of the tree, bare feet and all. The bark is rough against her skin, the leaves tangling fiercely in her hair - she didn’t care. Higher she climbs, until she was certain the branches wouldn’t hold her anymore as thin as they were at the top. She could see a vast distance across the fields from this perch, the spotty shades that dotted the grasses in eternal paradise. She couldn’t see the island from there, however, much as she wanted. Still, the view was beautiful. Almost like the mortal realm.

 

“What in hell are you doing?”

 

“You can’t use that expression.”

 

“I can use whatever expression I like, wife.”

 

Persephone laughs, peering down through the branches at her husband who looks less than enthused. He’s been fussy the past few days because he knows her time with him is running short. She’s tried making the best of it now that she’s not on the brink of death from the mine collapse, and they’ve worked in tandem together like they haven’t in ages. Time has gone faster and she’s disappointed, in truth. It feels unkind that they still have decades to make up for and she has to go back up top for six months. She knows her duties, but it still doesn’t stop her from entertaining the idea of eating another six seeds just for spite. She knows her Ma can handle spring on her own, she just pitches a fit when Persephone’s gone for the damn sake of it. Persephone knows her Ma - and how much her Ma hates Hades for it. Some things never change. 

 

“Gonna come up and join me?”

 

“I’d rather you come down and join me.”

 

“In a few.” 

 

She tilts her head toward the illusion of the sun, pretending it’s warm is true. She’s grateful her lover restored these fields. They’re beautiful, and she has the sneaking suspicion he likes them too. If only because she does. 

 

She spends several minutes in the boughs of the tree, before she hops down with a practiced ease. Her bare feet touch down on the dirt and grass a few feet from where Hades is standing, admiring the view from the top of the hill.

 

“View’s better from up there.” Persephone remarks, sneaking up to wrap an arm around his waist. His curls around her shoulders. 

 

“I like my view just fine.” He murmurs, and she can tell without looking that his gaze is on her. She smiles to herself, resting her head against his shoulder. They used to spend their last days together like this. Enjoying each other’s company. They’d explored each other inch by inch in the previous nights and her body is still humming from it. He’s a damn good lover and Persephone is mighty grateful for it. Memories to carry with her in the next six months away. 

 

“You gonna be early in the fall?” She asks, almost cheeky. He chuckles.

 

“You want me to be?”

 

“Whatever you want, lover.” Persephone hums. “You’ll come visit?”

 

“Whenever you want.”

 

“Wait for me?”

 

“I will.”

 

On the road to hell there was a railroad line, and a train came rumbling up the tracks. Snow had already melted to reveal a layer of grassy fields below, the first glimpse since autumn. Buds had burst into life on the trees promising bountiful fruits and beautiful blossoms. The world was waking up from it’s last winter frost. 

 

Hades had ridden up with her on the train to see her off. Eurydice’s letter to Orpheus was tucked into her bag. She sat between her husband and the window, watching the world beyond turn into more than just a blur of color while the train slows. Won't be long now. Her fingers tighten against his and there's an almost uncomfortable twisting to her gut. It's the first time in a long while she's hesitant to leave his company. This is the first time he's come up to return her in a long while too - big softie. She feels so much different than the Persephone that had ridden up alone at the end of last winter. She smiles at his reflection in the window; even with those dark glasses she knows his eyes are on her. 

 

She would miss the underworld beyond just him. The girl. The bar. The dogs. Things had shifted so much over the course of a single winter. Hades had built that city, hot and sweltering with his own two hands for her - to give her what warmth he could since he could not give her the sun. She couldn't deny his attempts as much as she'd hated them. Who knew marriage could be solved by communication? Not that marriage was ever that simple, but it helped a damn good part of the time. 

 

“What are you gonna do while I'm gone?” She asks, turning away from the window. 

 

“Same thing I do every winter. Wait for you to get back.” His grin is sharp, and she can't tell if he's telling the truth or not. She huffs, sliding over to straddle his waist. Her fingers come up to tilt his sunglasses down until they're on the top of his nose and she can see those dark, broody eyes the color of steel. The lines around his face have lessened a bit, his brow not furrowed as much as it usually is. They can't turn back time, but not being at each other's throats seems to have done him a world of good. Her too, she had noticed that morning. Face brighter and all that - though the liquor hadn't helped her in that department. 

 

Her fingers smooth invisible wrinkles in the collar of his shirt; she can just see those tattoos peeking out from beneath the fabric, ink as black as coal. His hands settle at her waist and they sit in the soft quiet, the noise of the train rumbling along the track the only sound. A whistle, here or there. They're definitely slowing down. 

 

“You'll be fine. Won't seem like no time at all.” She smiles though she ain't sure if she's trying to convince him or herself. They've had their time together and she had duties to the above ground that must be seen too. That had been the deal, a lifetime ago. Her daddy's stupid idea to please her Ma. Maybe one day they'll find a way around it. Or maybe it's good they spend time apart. Too much of a good thing and all. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, whatever. 

 

She rests her forehead against his, noses pressed together as they siphon out the last of their time together. Stolen kisses and soft murmurs in ancient tongues until the train finally rolls to a stop. When she glances up she can see Hermes waiting already, and to her surprise the boy is there too. 

 

“Gonna make yourself useful?” Persephone teases as she stands and straightens her dress. Hades slides his glasses back up to cover his eyes against the harsh daylight before reaching to grab her bags. She’s already dashing to the door and out into the crisp air. She breathes freer here and the sun is real and warm. It’s like a shot of energy to her very bones. 

 

Spring has returned.

 

“Looking good there, sister.” Hermes greets and Persephone leans forward to kiss his cheek in greeting. His smile is infectious and bright. “Good winter?”

 

“Better than the recents.” She casts a glance over her shoulder; Hades is putting her bags down on the edge of the platform. There’s a strange tension in the air between him and Orpheus, who hasn’t moved from the other side of the platform, with Persephone and Hermes stuck in the middle. 

 

“Lemme tell the old man goodbye. Grab the bags?”

 

“Do you ever carry your own, woman?”

 

Persephone laughs.

 

“Not if I can help it.”

 

She crosses back toward the train, where her husband lingers. He takes her hands and lifts them to his lips, searing his kiss across her knuckles. 

 

“I’ll be right here waiting in the fall. But that don’t mean you can’t come visit.” Persephone muses. His lips twitch briefly.

 

“Don’t tempt me. Hecate might get a bit unruly if I start neglecting duties to visit my wife.”

 

“Tell her to can it.” She rises up on her toes to kiss him - sometimes she forgets how tall he is, when he isn’t stooping to her level. The kiss is warm and soft and says a thousand words more than anything said aloud. 

 

_ I love you _ .

 

_ Love you too. _

It’s harder to separate than she expects, but they do. He steps back onto the train and Persephone watches it pull away from the platform toward the horizon, back down to Hadestown. Its whistle fades into the distance, and the goddess of spring is left alone.

 

Well, not so alone.

 

“Alright you two!” She plasters on a grin, turning toward Hermes and Orpheus. “Catch me up on what I’ve missed. It’s a long walk to town.”

 

She loops her arm through Orpheus’, untucking an envelope from an inner pocket of her fur coat. She slides it into his front shirt pocket before he can argue, patting it down fondly. 

 

“For later.” She murmurs, squeezing his arm. His returns it.

 

“Thank you.” He says quietly and the trio set off down the path.

 

Between the two of them (mostly Hermes) she hears the news that she’s missed, how winter had been mild and the town had survived. How her Ma had missed her (nothing new) and how the bar up top had been doing, though Hermes was clearly pleased his best girl was back in town to draw more business. Persephone smiles and listens and lets herself be swept up into the feel of spring. There are happy greetings and calls of her name as they grow closer to town and pass the fields that will be plowed in a few weeks, everyone happy to see their patron goddess and to celebrate the end of winter. It’s almost intoxicating, but Persephone thrives off their happiness. If the mortals are happy, she’s happy. Usually. 

 

At the very least she knows they’re just as tired of her Ma’s temper tantrum as she is.

 

“Orpheus, you wanna take those bags from him? He’s got a business to run. I’ll be down tonight.” Persephone says when they reach the middle of the town. The trio decreases to just the two of them, and Persephone leads the way up the dirt path to her Ma’s house.

 

Once upon a time she would be staying with her Ma. But the farmhouse Demeter called home had been too stifling, too full of childhood memories that while Persephone was fond of, knew she needed to leave behind. Not to mention Demeter’s tendency to  _ hover _ over her, fussing this way or that about the smallest of things until it had Persephone storming out the front door in an irritated rage. She loves her Ma dearly, but now that she’s seen life beyond her thumb Persephone doesn’t want to go back to that.

 

So when she’s on the surface, Persephone has a small little house at the back of her mother’s garden. The garden itself is vast so there’s plenty of distance between the farmhouse and Persephone’s little cottage. She has the forest and the creeks in her backyard. It suits her just fine.

 

“You finished your song yet?” Persephone asks Orpheus as she opens the gate to the path into the house. The cottage itself is rather small, only a few rooms, and is covered in ivy and flowers that make it blend seamlessly into the environment around it. The windows are wide and large and afford a perfect breeze to blow through on those summer days when it feels too hot to even wear your own skin. 

 

It’s not a kingdom, but it’s hers.

 

“Not yet.”

 

“It’s been stuck in my head for months. They say the only way you can get a song out of your head is to finish it.”

 

“It just . . . it doesn’t sound right.”

 

“You’ll get it. That letter might help.” She opens the front door and it’s just as she left it. She knows her Ma makes sure it’s clean and stocked for her. Orpheus hesitates in the entrance before sh all but shoves him inside and shuts the door. The floors are worn wood, the furniture too. There’s a wash room and a bedroom beyond two smaller doors, but the main room has a sitting room, small dining table, and a small kitchen. It’s big enough for her; Persphone doesn’t usually have guests. Otherwise they all gather in her momma’s house. 

 

“Just throw those anywhere. Sit. I’ll make a drink.” She gestures vaguely to the sofa that has a patchwork quilt thrown over it. She finds the cabinets are stocked, as is the icebox. She drags out a pitcher of passion fruit tea and a couple of glasses. She’ll have to go see her momma later. 

 

Orpheus sets her bags carefully on the floor near the bedroom door and she hands him one of the glasses, filled to the brim with the purple colored tea. 

 

“She’s doin’ fine, I promise. I’m taking care of her.” She says without preamble because she can see the look on his face, in his eyes. The loss within them. 

 

“But you’re not down there now.”

 

“And she’s still gonna be fine. It’s different since you were down there.” She drags out one of the dining chairs and sits. Orpheus does the same. He still has his lyre strung over his back, but it looks untouched. Pity.

 

“Your girl probably saved my life.” Persephone adds, tilting her glass toward him before taking a long drink. “Down in the mines.”

 

“What happened?”

 

So Persephone regales Orpheus with tales of his lover from the underworld. From the mines to the nights at the bar and beyond. The boy listens with rapt attention and she flourishes as much as she can. Lets him lose himself into the tales of Eurydice as if they’re all he’s lived for these past few months. She pours more tea, breaks out a plastic bag of raspberry cookies her Ma must have baked, and they eat the entire thing between them. She never runs out of tales to spin, and she can see the tension in his shoulders ease by the time night begins to settle in. 

 

Orpheus looked unchanged when she’d first spotted him, but up close she can see the bags under his eyes, the lines on his face. Reminds her of her and her old man when they’d been fighting. Stress doesn’t do well on anyone. She pities him, but she’s determined to see him as much happiness as she can give these months she has with him. 

 

As the hour grows later, his lack of sleep seems to catch up to him more than expected. Persephone won’t hear a word of protest when she offers for him to spend the night. She still has to go see her mother, pop in at the bar - but he needs time, she thinks. Time to read that letter and process whatever Eurydice had written. To his credit, he only protests once and Persephone refuses to hear it, so when she steps out into the cool night air he’s curled on the sofa beneath the patchwork quilt with his letter clutched in hand. 

 

The bar is first; she won’t stay long. She’s tired too. She justs needs to see some more familiar faces, assure them she’s really here for the season, the usual. Drinks and songs and revelry can wait until tomorrow when the day is new and the greenery and warmth has physically returned. 

 

It isn’t as crowded as she expects, but they’re happy to see her. Well wishes all around, drinks raised in her honor - it’s warming to know she’ll always be welcome here, always have a place. It had been her solace when she’d felt so appalled by Hadestown. The people here are kind and grateful and all the while Hermes smiles from his usual table. 

 

All in all, it’s usual business up top and she’s excited to join in full celebrations tomorrow. Parties and stories and drinks and songs will flow freely in celebration of their patron lady returned, the spring solstice upon them. She drinks to celebrate now, not to numb the pain. She only manages have a drink this night, mostly because her stomach protests. Clearly not used to the mortal excuse for liquor right off the bat. 

 

The moon is nearly full overhead by the time she leaves, despite jesting begs not to. She promises to return, promises to join them in the afternoon tomorrow. She doesn’t fear walking home in the dark - she feels more at peace, truthfully. The quiet of the world above is a quiet she doesn’t mind existing in because it isn’t  _ truly _ quiet. The rustle of the wind in the trees, animals that have begun to emerge from hibernation scuttling in the undergrowth and tall grasses. A symphony of life, music to Persephone’s ears. 

 

“La, la, la, la.” Her voice carries softly as she takes the path back up, singing the ancient melody that still refuses to leave her head. Quite frankly she’s surprised the Fates aren’t singing in her head instead but they’re mysteriously quiet after having haunted her so frequently below ground. She’ll take what she can get, honestly.

 

The lights in the old farmhouse are still on, of course. She climbs the steps to the porch and walks in on her own to the smell of lavender and chamomile. Her smile softens.

 

“Hello, momma.”

 

“Was beginning to think you forgot about seeing your own Ma.” Demeter’s face is bright and rosy and warm as she envelopes Persephone in a fierce hug. Persephone laughs softly and buries her face in her mother’s hair, losing herself in her scent. She always feels like a little girl again in these moments. “I’ve missed you, baby.”

 

“Missed you too.” She murmurs. Demeter pulls away and takes her daughter’s face in her hands, admiring her. It’s an age old routine. Persephone never knows what her momma is looking for. “You doin’ alright?”

 

“Right as rain.” Demeter hums. “You hungry? I’ve got stew leftover from dinner.”

 

“I had those cookies earlier you left in the house, I’m good right now. Just tired. That trip never gets any easier.”

 

“You tell that brother of mine to speed it up, then.” She remarks. 

 

“That ain’t Hades. Take it up with Hermes. He runs the train.” She huffs. “You got any of that ginger or peppermint tea you keep?”

 

“Always. You sick?”

 

“It’s the trip. Gets me sometimes.”

 

Demeter busies herself fixing Persephone a cup of tea. For her part, Persephone curls up on the sofa in her Ma’s own sitting room, relishing the feeling of being home and the warmth it offers. It’s this she misses underground. Demeter has a fire burning that Persephone watches as the flames dance across the logs. She remembers a time sitting in front of that fireplace listening to her momma’s stories, playing with her flour sack dolls. Simpler times. 

 

“I’ll get started in the garden soon as possible.” Persephone murmurs, smiling her thanks as Demeter hands her a steaming mug of tea with a heady scent. She sip and it immediately quells her churning stomach. 

 

“I ain’t worried about it. Take it easy a few days. We’ll get to it when we get to it. I’m just happy to see you home.”

 

She isn’t sure of the time, by the time she leaves her momma’s house. She cuts through the garden which is already brimming with the promise of new life. Buds along the trees and bushes that she know will bloom into beautiful, brilliant blossoms of flowers and fruit. There’s not too much that can rival her momma’s garden when it’s in full bloom. It’s one of her happiest memories, this garden. Growing up. Where Hades had come to her. 

 

“Spring is back, the goddess home.”

 

She sighs heavily, pausing on the path.

 

“Should’ve known you three wouldn’t leave me well enough alone.” Persephone mutters darkly at the three figures that seem to emerge from the shadows themselves. “More garbage prophecies? Or are you going to threaten me again?”

 

“No threats, no prophecies. Only fact.”

 

“We like trouble, and we’re right on track.”

 

“Your rhymes are getting worse.” Persephone rolls her eyes. “A child could do better.”

 

“And so a child shall.”

 

Something sharp and cold runs the length of her spine as she stops, frozen on the dirt path. She turns; she can just make out their outlines in the light of the moon.

 

“What did you just say to me?”

 

“Did you think a life for a life meant death?”

 

“We spin yarns as often as we cut them.”

 

In the dim light she can see Clotho’s hands moving, twisting - a thin gold thread barely a hair’s width stretches from her fingers. Soft, unyielding. Strong, even as she tugs the yarn more and more as if plucking it from the very air. Something twists in Persephone’s chest.

 

“The king of death has fostered life with the queen of spring.”

 

“A fragile life. Like the three before.”

 

Persephone can’t pinpoint the exact emotion that feels like it’s constricting her chest, swallowing her whole. The Fates circle her, the thread between Clotho’s fingers turning into two, then three, then back to two, and back to one. Constantly shifting. Spinning. Twisting. 

 

It’s dizzying to watch.

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says sharply, the coldness in her veins turning to steel, to anger. To ire. The three laugh, musical and delighted. 

 

“You don’t mean what you say.”

 

And she doesn’t. Because there is still some part of her that hopes, that waits. 

 

That  _ yearns _ . 

 

“Give it time, let it sow. The earth is not the only thing to grow.”

 

Her fingers reach out to latch onto a branch, half worried her legs might give out from beneath her. She won’t bear it. Won’t bear to face the loss again. She  _ cannot _ .

 

But the Fates are already slipping back into the shadows, having delivered their message. Persephone leans heavily against the trunk of the tree, bark digging into her skin. Her eyes burn, wicked so. Three ghosts that haunt her already, she will not have a fourth. 

 

Unsteady fingers drift to rest across her front, smoothing down the wrinkles of her dress until it’s stretched taut across her middle. She doesn’t know what she expects. The churning has returned until she feels almost ill; she gulps down large breaths of fresh air until the world seems right again. 

 

Her fingers curl against the fabric, half clutching, half begging in gesture.

 

_ Grow.  _

 

She runs the path back to her momma’s house in a daze.

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> you can now find me on tumblr where i'm taking requests, answering questions, and all the usual stuff. please send me writing prompts/requests! i'll post them there, and here for everyone to enjoy!
> 
> follow me @ourladyoftheundcrground.tumblr.com


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